


the trappings of our paradise

by Hhh (NeggTheEgg)



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Believe what you want, I did this on a whim bear with me, I only listed implied ships, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:35:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeggTheEgg/pseuds/Hhh
Summary: Jaemin can barely suppress a sigh.  Hyuck from the town hospice is perched on the tree, absentmindedly petting the rook and eating one of Jaemin’s persimmons.  Despite not even being able to reach the ones so high up, he’s incredibly sour that someone else is reaping the benefits of his hard work.Not that it is hard caring for a persimmon tree, but Hyuck is annoying and Jaemin loves to complain.





	the trappings of our paradise

one.

 

The sunrise casts an uncomfortable glow on the town, orange light filtering through the windows and bathing the inhabitants.  Jaemin instantly sits up in bed, perhaps a little more sensitive to the light than he should be, especially after living in such a place for so long.  The larks sing outside the bay window in an eerie harmony, drifting through the brisk morning air.

 

Never mind that, though, Jaemin thinks as he pulls a woolen sweater over his pyjamas and heads for the garden out front.  It consists solely of tulips, begonias and the like - rather consisted of, as they were dead, set to be replaced in a few months - beautiful and inviting, easy to admire.  The bed of spring and summer flowers coating his yard are the subtle difference that sets him apart from his nearest neighbors with their roses. In order to smell the roses, one must suffer far too much; as beautiful as they are, one gets tired of pricking their fingers time and time again on the thorns and fighting through the brush just to see a single bloom.

 

The fine layer of snow that had set since last night dusts the wilting leaves of Jaemin’s prized flowers, a harsh reminder to replant the dying bulbs in a months’ time.  A pointed cough resounds somewhere behind him, a contrast from the birdsong, and Jaemin turns to face his neighbor from across the lane.

 

Jeno stands, languidly propped against the fence in front of his own family’s chateau in all his early-morning glory.  

 

“Oh, you’re back.”

 

“I was hoping for a more excited response, Jaem. Is this how you treat your best friend?”  Jeno’s laugh tinkles like wind-chimes.

 

“I’m sorry, my favorite person.  I’m _so_ happy that you’re back, my tulips are flourishing, my skin is clear, my room is clean, my hotel is-”

 

“Hey!  Now it just sounds like you’re making fun of me!” Jeno morphs his expression into one of mock hurt.  Jaemin simply chuckles; despite constantly attacking the other boy’s sense of humor with a fusillade of insults, he was quite tired of spending his days bereft of any company.  

 

“It’s awfully early for you to be up, Jen,” Jaemin grins.  His neighbor is quite the notorious sleeper.

 

“Time differences,” Jeno ruffles his hair, disgruntled.  “If I could be sleeping right now, I would.”

 

“Then why don’t you go to the square with me?  I’ll pick up some groceries and whatever else I may need.”

 

“No stores are open at this _ungodly_ hour,” Jeno scoffs.  “You’re the only one who’s ever awake by sunrise.”

 

“Jeno dearest, everything but the restaurants are open in the square by now.”  Jaemin smiles at the incredulous look painted across his friend’s face.

 

Jaemin supposes that the town square is beautiful at night, with the faerie lights dotting the buildings and the streets, but nothing could quite beat the spectacle right between sunrise, when the buildings are thrown into relief and the twinkling lights switch off.  Even if the view has tarnished over the years, Jaemin still retains some watered-down version of his euphoria. Jeno, quite uncaring of the stunning scenery, traipses into the nearest grocery store and grabs just about every carbohydrate off the shelves.

 

“Jeno,” Jaemin sighs, “we can’t eat nearly that many.”

 

“Yes, we can,” he smiles, “And I knew you wouldn’t pester me for my choice of diet.  Truly my best friend.”

 

“Why would I?  Your taste quite aligns with mine,” Jaemin grabs a roll off the top of Jeno’s heaping pile of bread.  “Oh, and you’re paying.”

 

Needless to say, Jeno realizes he’s forgotten his wallet at home and fishes a few spare gold coins from his overcoat pocket, covering about half the expense and leaving Jaemin to pay for the rest.

 

The boys settle on a bench with the multitude of bags filled to the brim with food, feeding the birds brave enough to approach them.

 

Jaemin turns to see Jeno fondly petting an ostentatious cockatiel that had taken a liking to Jeno’s croissant.  Cockatiel sightings were comparatively few and far-between, even considering their town’s location, so Jaemin reaches over to smooth its feathers and feeds it as  well.

 

“Speaking of feeding,” Jaemin grins,  “Have you fed Wren yet?”

 

Jeno scowls.  Wren had become something of an inside joke between the two, even if the bird was very lovely.  Jeno had adopted Wren because of her unique markings and his own abysmal failure at recognizing birds; having only seen the male superb fairywrens, he believed Wren to be of another species entirely.  Upon being informed by Jaemin that fairywrens like Wren were as common as dirt and that Jeno had some sort of selective vision, he’d already grown too attached to Wren to let it go. The discovery of her species coupled with the fact that Jeno was about as creative as a rock had led to the name ‘Wren’.

 

“Uh, no…”

 

A not-unexpected answer, Jaemin thinks, rolling his eyes.  “Go feed her, we have more than enough bread.”

 

Jeno scoffs, affronted, “I feed Wren the finest mixture of crickets and non-GMO pesticide free locally grown organic corn kernels.  How dare you suggest I feed her our measly bread!”

 

“And you feed her this special diet about every other week, leaving her to hunt for herself the rest of the time.  Give her the damn bread, Jen.” Begrudgingly, Jeno gets to his feet and motions for Jaemin to grab the food, taking extra care not to scare his cockatiel(now named Birdie-perhaps an even worse name choice than Wren) away.  

 

Wren looks at the two reproachfully as Jeno opens the door, squinting at her owner through one beady black eye.

 

“Jeno,” Jaemin sighs.  “You put her in a gold cage with _artificial plants_?”

 

“It looks nice!” His foolish best friend protests.

“Wren might _eat_ the fake plants!  And if she’s locked up, she can’t even feed herself; God knows she needs to, since you forget all the time.”

 

“Here, Wren,” Jeno puts an entire crumbly pastry into the cage, ignoring Jaemin’s _very_ well-placed concern.  “Can you grab me a cage for Birdie?”

 

“I still can’t believe you named him Birdie.  You never cease to disappoint.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

With Birdie safely secured in a matching silver cage and chattering his mouth off at a bemused Wren, Jaemin settles himself on Jeno’s couch in comfortable silence.  The morning hasn’t quite hit the town in its entirety, and Jeno’s parents and sister are as fabled of sleepers as Jeno himself, but Jaemin is still careful not to disturb them .

 

Jeno flashes his famous smile in Jaemin’s general direction, eyes curling into crescent moons.  

 

“You don’t need to bother, Jaem.  Mother, father, and Koeun won’t be up until almost noon.”

 

“I’m hardly being polite, Jen,” Jaemin replies, not entirely truthfully, “I’m simply enjoying the fabulous heating in your house.  As clear as the skies are today, it still is the middle of winter.”

 

“It’s no better than your own manor. Why must you insist upon entertaining yourself in mine?”

 

“Home feels awfully cold when one has no company.” Jaemin smiles dryly up at his friend, flicking a couple crumbs into Wren’s mouth amidst Birdie’s indignant squawking.  And then, “Maybe I should get a tiger.”

 

“A tiger!” Jeno’s eternally smiling exterior lapses as his jaw unhinges.  “Do you never want me to visit again?”

 

“I thought you love cats.”

 

“I do, but I also love my limbs and my birds.” Jeno contorts his face into a theatrical pout, thin lips pressed together tightly.  “If you were anyone else, I’d probably laugh, but you’re rich and stupid enough to do exactly that.”

 

“That assessment of my intelligence was primarily, uncalled for, and secondly, incorrect.”

 

“Jaem, don’t even try that with me,” Jeno chides, “You may be good with words but you also decided that you should take up painting in your newly upholstered sitting room.”

 

Jaemin breathes a chuckle.  “Money isn’t really an issue here, not for either of us.”

 

“I suppose so.”

 

The sun, well and truly up in the sky, glows calmly, yellow-ochre and tangerine hues wiped away to reveal a blue painted across the heavens devoid of any impurity, sunbeams dripping through the window.  Light and shadow sculpts Jeno’s face like the marble statues of Eros at the doorway.

 

Jaemin shakes out of his stupor when Jeno’s sister plods down the stairs, bleary-eyed, and swoops in on a loaf of sourdough, cracking open the crust and wolfing down the innards.  

 

“Huh?” She squints at the silver cage.  “Did Wren have a baby or sumthin’?”

“Koeun, they’re the same age and completely different species.” Jeno smiles patiently.

 

“Oh really?” she blinks a couple times.  “Oh, I see. Where’d you get a cockatiel?”

 

“Jeno has quite impressive luck.” Jaemin rolls his eyes.

 

“And good taste in bread.”

 

“Which we appreciate.” Jaemin snags the last brioche bun safely out of reach from Koeun’s prying hands, which were currently busy trying to fit an entire loaf of ciabatta in her mouth at once.

 

…

 

Yet another shard of stone scratches against Jaemin’s fingers as he digs up the frozen bulbs.  Only the spring ones are still alive, though barely. Perhaps he wasn’t in his right mind when getting to work gloveless; his fingers were simultaneously aching from the rough dirt and going numb from the cold.  

 

It’s only until Jaemin finds a glass fragment hiding in the garden bed that he drags himself inside to get a pair of gloves.  They’re nice heavy-duty gloves, perfect for this type of work, although Jaemin hasn’t used them since two winters ago; they’re lying around somewhere obscure, for sure.  Maybe Jeno took them.

 

The nice old lady at the tiny florist shop on the other side of town had about four varieties of spring flowers on a good day, and barely the dregs of that during winters; keeping them alive was already quite the pain in the ass.  

 

So, Jaemin’s garden is currently flower-less and completely upheaved, barely a step up from the papery leaves and partially unearthed bulbs there were before.  Still a step up, nonetheless. Hastily smoothing the hills and dips of soil in the slushy snow with the back of his shovel, Jaemin all but sprints back into the comfort of his home.

 

He loves his flowers, but there’s only so much cold his hands and face can take.  

 

It’s when he’s heating his hands _on_ a boiling kettle(he knows he’s dumb and has no sense of self-preservation, no need to remind him) when he realizes he has yet to change into socially acceptable attire and he drags himself by the ear to his room to change.  Bemoaning the lack of heat within his closet and his subsequently freezing clothes, Jaemin grabs the warmest shirt and pair of slacks he owns and throws them dangerously close to the fashionably obsolete boiler.

 

A very judgemental rook stares through his bedroom window, as if mocking him for his poor living quality.  Jaemin throws a sock in its general direction. What right did the damn rook have to question him? He had a _very_ well put-together life.  Somewhat. Barely.

 

“Wow, Na.  You’ve reached new lows...  Throwing socks? Disappointing.”

 

Jaemin can barely suppress a sigh.  Hyuck from the town hospice is perched on the tree, absentmindedly petting the rook and eating one of Jaemin’s persimmons.  Despite not even being able to reach the ones so high up, he’s incredibly sour that someone else is reaping the benefits of his hard work.  

Not that it is _hard_ caring for a persimmon tree, but Hyuck is annoying and Jaemin loves to complain.

 

“Hyuck, don’t you have medicine to sort, or herbs to pick, or someone else to annoy?  And why are you in my tree?”

 

“First of all, we don’t pick _herbs_ for herbal medicine-”

 

“Then what the hell goes in herbal medicine?”

 

“-As I was _going_ to say, our herbs are dried and imported.  Secondly, bold of you to assume I have to slave away for the doctor.  Thirdly, I just felt like it. It’s totally normal.”

 

“First of all, that’s just disappointing.  Secondly, slaving away for the doctor is literally your job.  Third of all, there is nothing _normal_ about climbing up the tree of a dude who lives about ten minutes away from where you’re supposed to be and stealing their persimmons!”

 

“Firstly, if we don’t import, then _I’ll_  be the one growing those herbs, and my hands are too beautiful to be sullied by all that dirt.  Secondly, to quote a literary great, ‘never put off till tomorrow what may be done the day after tomorrow just as well’.  Miss Jung’s toe fungus can wait. Third of all, persimmons taste good and I was hungry. I’m also quite surprised that you addressed yourself as simply ‘dude’, you ego-inflated wet sock.”

 

“First, your ugly ass hands don’t even deserve to touch those beautiful herbs.  That should be the doctor’s job. Second, Miss Jung’s toe fungus is so gross; it’ll rot her whole nail off soon.  And I’m sure that Mark Twain won’t be helping you there. Third, I can report you for theft, _try me_.  And we all know that you’re the real narcissist here, you spider-legged sumo tangerine.”

 

“First, what do you mean, my hands are absolutely stunning.  Your hands are dryer than your lips, which I didn’t think was possible.  Invest in some balm, dude. Second, why don’t you try cleaning some old lady’s nasty toes.  Don’t talk to me about procrastinating. Third, why can’t you be a little more generous. Stingy old bats end up in hell, you know.  And are you calling my legs hairy, you abominable week-old minced tuna casserole fresh out of Old Man Lee’s dysfunctional freezer-”

 

“This is quite entertaining.  Hyuck, you should climb by more often.”  

 

“Jeno, stay out of this.”  Jaemin glares the second largest cause of all his misery down.  How dare he show up with _crackers_ while Jaemin has to deal with the devil incarnate - the first largest cause of his misery - currently sitting on his tree and pilfering those damn persimmons.

 

“Hey Jeno, wouldn’t Jaemin jumping off this tree make this town so much happier?  His ugly face just dampens our moods.”

 

“Hey Jeno, wouldn’t Hyuck freezing to death get rid of so much food waste here, especially with all he eats?”

 

“Now now, children, death threats aren’t the way to solve conflict.  Hyuck, drop me a persimmon, will you?”

 

“No, no, _no_!” Jaemin wails,  “Both of you get your greasy hands off my persimmons!  Hyuck, get out of my tree, Jeno, your crackers are getting all over my lawn, you’d better clean that up, someone get that rook to stop crapping in my yard-”

 

“Oh, and the flower shop lady who brings us the dried herbs told me to tell you she got a new stock of lilies and daffodils.”

 

“And you tell me this now?” Jaemin pulls on another sock - he’s too lazy to pick up the one by the window - and grabs his wallet.

 

“Don’t I get a ‘thank you’?” Hyuck calls after him, that whiny brat.

 

“You get the rest of that persimmon.  Happy?”

 

“Not particularly.”

 

Jaemin doesn’t catch it, though, because he’s throwing open his front door, kicking the laughing Jeno squatting in his yard, and heading for the botany.

 

When he comes back with an armful of flower bulbs, his garden is thankfully devoid of pests.  In actuality, he didn’t mind Hyuck: the little ball of snark made entertaining company, but he wouldn’t be caught dead saying that out loud.  Jaemin has a _reputation_ to uphold.

 

Right.  The bulbs.  Jaemin casts Hyuck out of his mind with one last plea that he’s actually in the hospice.  The poor doctor has enough on his plate without an acerbic, runaway intern.

 

His begonias sit well near the north window; they need even light throughout the day, and not even Jaemin goes to the north wing very much.

 

He might as well dust off the maple table in there.  He hasn’t seen it in three weeks and there wasn’t much else better to do.  There was never anything better to do, so Jaemin’s house is always tidy. He scrubs at the stain that Jeno’s sister Koeun made on his table, already knowing it won’t come out.  It hadn’t come out then, either. That particular disaster is still quite vivid in Jaemin’s memory. It was probably the most interesting thing to have happened to him in the past six months.

 

A series of bad decisions that had lead to a very large quantity of puke on his maple table and a considerable waste of cornstarch hadn’t made an impression on Koeun at all.  The girl still takes ridiculous dares in stride. At least _her_ life is quite interesting.

 

Excepting the occasional visit from Hyuck, or the little kids from the bakery, or a particularly curious bird, his own life is quite stagnant.  

 

Sleep appallingly late, wake appallingly early, bother Jeno, check his garden, check it again, water his flowers, find time to eat.

 

Rinse and repeat.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This was a setting that I had always wanted to write. I'll probably only post ch 2 and onwards if people want it... 
> 
> It's been rotting in my files for months now hh let's see how this goes


End file.
